A place where nothing, nothing ever happens. To quote Talking Heads.
Stubble-burning. Oil pastel and ink on Khadi paper. I remember this; tell the young that they used to burn the fields, and they won't believe you!
Hell is also a place where nothing (new) ever happens: same old, same old. Repetition is banal. I wonder at certain artists who make the same picture over and over again. Maybe we all do it to a degree. The aim, though forever vague, is to dispel the ennui of the world. Occasionally, an image remains valid years later. This is one of those. the abstract and the 'real' balance well and the subject is nostalgic and pastoral, especially in times like these.
Teaching Spanish today. The trouble with most cover work is that one is essentially a babysitter; unless you are employed as a specialist. It's usually, 'Turn to page 24. Read it and answer the questions in full sentences.' At least I can help if they get stuck.
Looks like a lovely day, but need to get some painting done before I go in for 2 hours paid work. Is art-making a form of paid work too? It can be, though at present it isn't. For me.
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